


Kiss Me To The Core

by YellowFlannelFrog



Category: The Broken Earth Series - N. K. Jemisin
Genre: Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29595462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowFlannelFrog/pseuds/YellowFlannelFrog
Summary: Schaffa has pain, Steel can heal it, they spend some nights together on the way to Corepoint. Spoilers for The Stone Sky. I think this qualifies as fluff.
Relationships: Schaffa/Steel
Kudos: 1





	Kiss Me To The Core

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't finished The Broken Earth Trilogy read at your own risk because this fic relates to major spoilers. 
> 
> I enjoy crackships.

Schaffa wakes up wracked in pain. This isn’t a new thing, he’s woken up in so much pain before and fought through it, lying in bed with his teeth clenched whispering  _ I won’t I won’t I won’t  _ until his lips get bloody or sometimes just  _ I, I, I, I _ to hold onto that precise thing that is himself. He wakes up in pain, only he’s not in his bed at Found Moon or at Yumenes because he is with Nassun and they are going to Corepoint to end the world. To end the pain. That is how he thinks of it sometimes, but he has never told her this. 

Nassun is next to him, curled against him for warmth. Her forehead is pressed into his chest, head resting on his arm, bearing her neck too near his palm. She cares for him so much. He could press her fingers to the base of her skull, for the slight release it will grant. She has lain down like this specifically so he could. The prospect of less pain is so good he can almost taste it and he reaches for her neck unthinking, his movements jerky and slow. 

A pressure on his hand, flattening it. The pressure comes with a different kind of pain, a dull throbbing, the weight is so  _ heavy _ . Schaffa manages to raise his eyes to see the grey stone eater crouching over them, his hand pressing Schaffa’s to the ground. His eyes are on Schaffa, and he isn’t smiling. 

“You will take too much,” Steel says. 

Schaffa tries to grunt a response but the pain flares again and he bites his tongue. Steel’s gaze turns pitying and he loops his fingers around Schaffa’s wrist, easing the pressure a little bit. 

“Come with me.”

Like Schaffa has a choice. But he would if he did. 

The next moment Schaffa finds himself standing next to Steel. Well, standing is pushing it. He’s leaning against Steel, disoriented and tired and unable to focus on keeping the muscles in his legs from working the way they should to keep him standing. Steel has an arm around his back, his hand tucked at Schaffa’s waist to support him. Schaffa can’t see Nassun anymore and has no gauge of how far they have travelled. 

“Nassun,” he gasps.

“She is safe.”

“Where.”

Steel pauses and it feels like an exasperated sigh. “She is just beyond that ridge. I will make sure she is safe.”

Schaffa nods brusquely. Steel is studying him again. “If you want to protect her so badly, you should take better care of yourself.”

Responses crowd Schaffa’s brain: how he was going to before Steel interrupted, how he can’t because it might kill Nassun, how he’s managed thus far, insulting Steel… Then the pain flares again and he flinches minutely, leaning more of his weight on the stone eater, who is quite good as a support. 

“I know you do not want to hurt her,” Steel says. His voice rumbles out from somewhere in his chest beneath Schaffa’s head because Schaffa has now fallen into him. “We are similar, you and I. We both want her alive. We both want her to reach Corepoint safely.” Schaffa feels Steel’s fingers under his hair, tracing with unerring accuracy to the scar on his neck where the piece of Evil Earth is embedded. “She doesn’t trust me,” Steel continues. “She trusts you. It is your job to get her to Corepoint safely. Which makes it my job to make sure you can.”

He presses his smooth fingers into Schaffa’s neck, just slightly, unexpectedly warm, and does  _ something _ which Schaffa will never be able to explain, and the pain disappears. For a moment Schaffa is afraid that Steel has removed the piece completely, but the pain is still there, barely. Barely. His body feels like it has been dunked in cold water. There is suddenly a lack of feeling, and that lack is such a relief that Schaffa gasps. He takes a moment, arms draped around Steel’s neck, focusing on the feeling of Steel because he can now. He can feel the smoothness of Steel through the folds of his clothing. Steel’s slight, strange warmth. Steel’s hands, one on his neck the other on his waist. Then he pulls back, still standing within Steel’s radius. Steel has anticipated this move, and his hands have moved with Schaffa instead of crushing his neck into pieces. He is looking at Schaffa with that irritating self-satisfied smirk. 

“I suppose I owe you thanks,” says Schaffa, because Steel’s smirk is rubbing him the wrong way. Steel just slowly cocks an eyebrow. It’s such a human gesture done so steadily that Schaffa has to look away. “...Thank you,” he says at last. 

Steel shrugs, the movement unnatural on his stone eater shoulders. “It is my duty, as I said.”

“Which does not mean I cannot thank you.”

Steel laughs, and the sound is garish and makes Schaffa flinch. His body shifts slightly so that his face is now turned towards where Nassun sleeps. Schaffa’s brow furrows in concern, until Steel just says, “I suppose I should let you go now. Until tomorrow.”

There is something in the way he says this that gives Schaffa pause. Not quite anger. Not quite sadness. Loneliness. It comes as a surprise, though Schaffa doesn’t know why. Steel must be very old, of course he is lonely. It comes as another surprise when Schaffa realizes he does not want to go to sleep, not yet. 

“So every night you plan on dragging me off to some place to heal me?” He says it with a smirk to match Steel’s. Evil Earth, what is he doing? Is he flirting? With a rusting stone eater?

Surprise marks Steel’s words as well as he says, “That was the plan, yes.”

“The dragging off is hardly necessary.”

Steel shifts again and now he is looking at Schaffa, brow furled, glaring. “I suppose it is not. I just thought you might prefer it.”

Schaffa isn’t sure why Steel thought this. Nassun has given him silver plenty of times. It is obviously Steel’s personal preference. But it is still ludicrous. “Nassun is always welcome near me,” Schaffa says. 

“I see,” Steel’s tone is icy. 

Schaffa can see that if he doesn’t find comfortable footing with the stone eater soon this conversation won’t last much longer. “Of course, I suppose it does beat having you hold my head in your lap. And this way if I scream it won’t wake Nassun.”

Steel’s expression hasn’t changed, but his voice sounds almost strained when he says, “...Yes.”

Schaffa tries to pinpoint what went wrong. Is he still flirting? Is this how flirting is supposed to work? Steel hasn’t let go of him yet, which is probably a good sign. 

“I wouldn’t make you scream,” Steel says quietly, his voice barely more than a grating rumble. For some reason this simple sentence makes blood rise in Schaffa’s cheeks. He hasn’t felt like this in such a long time that he almost isn’t sure what’s causing it. The pain centered on the back of his neck is still just a dull pain, giving him no indication of what Evil Earth’s opinion of this whole situation is. 

“...Oh.”

They stand there for a long time until at last Steel says, somewhat reluctantly, as if he has read this phrase and is testing to see if this is the right situation to use it, “Not unless you want me to.”

Steel’s words run through Schaffa like electricity, leaving him gaping and hot and uncomfortable. “ _ What?”  _

Steel looks as uncomfortable as a block of stone can look, while still glowering. Shit. Is the stone eater  _ flirting _ with  _ him _ ? There’s something so ridiculous about the thought that Schaffa laughs. He tips his head back, as far as he can with Steel’s hand still there, which isn’t far. The laughter feels good, stilling even more of the slight pain. 

Now it is Steel’s turn to ask: “What?”

“Are you flirting with me?” 

Schaffa watches Steel for a response, but he is a still statue. He hasn’t yet made a sound. Finally he says, “If that is what this is called.”

“I believe it is, yes.”

Steel nods. On a human the response would likely be jerky, embarrassed, but on Steel it is fluid. “I have not flirted before.” He pauses, then adds, “Am I good at it?”

Schaffa smiles, “No.”

“Ah.”

“But I am out of practice, so maybe your technique is perfect.”

Steel’s face changes to a smirk again and he snorts. Schaffa is almost expecting it this time, but it is still a strange sound. Steel moves his hand from Schaffa’s neck to his face and Schaffa can acutely feel every second of it. Contrarily he says, “I suppose I should let you go now.”

Schaffa does not know why he does what he does next. Perhaps it is to prolong their conversation further. Perhaps it is because he is having  _ fun _ , and he can’t remember the last time he did. Perhaps it is because he thinks that maybe Steel wants this too. 

He leans forward and kisses Steel on the mouth. Then he pulls away enough to murmur, “You’re supposed to pucker your lips,” because kissing Steel’s smirking mouth feels off. Steel obediently puckers his lips, which jar them back against Schaffa’s and Schaffa wonders if he’s going to get a bruise from that, because everything about Steel is hard and heavy. There isn’t much pain, so he decides it isn’t likely, and kisses Steel again. Steel has moved his hands to hold Schaffa better in this new position and his lips are ridged where they pucker and not quite as unresponsive as Schaffa expected. Schaffa cups Steel’s face in his hands, enjoying the warmth and curve of his cheeks and jaw. He can feel the minute shiftings of Steel’s face, the tiny movements of perfectly carved muscle. 

When Schaffa pulls away, Steel’s face remains the same. His eyes are closed, and Schaffa traces his thumb along Steel’s eyelashes, which are fine but immovable as the mountain they belong to. Steel opens his eyes to look at Schaffa again. 

“What… what was that?” he sounds almost childish. 

“A kiss.” Schaffa extracts himself from Steel’s grasp. “Perhaps we can do it again tomorrow.” Then he pats Steel’s shoulder, turns, and walks back to where Nassun sleeps, black hair swishing behind him. 

⤞⤝

Steel stands watch over the two sleepers. The silver in Schaffa’s head is calmer tonight; Nassun fed it before she fell asleep. It will not wake him. Steel feels an irrational twinge of betrayal, irritation. Schaffa  _ said _ . But he cannot justify waking Schaffa for no reason, not when he made it his duty to care for him. Schaffa needs his sleep. But Steel wants to talk to the guardian again, and besides Schaffa made a promise too. He kneels down beside the sleeping figures and whispers, “Schaffa.”

(That should be fine. It is quiet enough that Schaffa can sleep through it. Belatedly he pulses Schaffa’s name through the earth too, even though it will be swallowed by the stillness exuded by the piece of Evil Earth embedded in Schaffa’s neck.)

Schaffa’s eyelids twitch, and he turns his head to look at Steel. His irises shimmer icily between his dark lashes. His irises, white like… Like. Like the feeling of anger. Schaffa’s irises always spark something in Steel he has trouble placing. It is exciting. He finds it hard to connect to much of the world around him, but there is something about Schaffa’s eyes that is … familiar. 

Schaffa smiles up at him. It is an automatic response to having been woken up and cognezising pain. “Ah…” he says. “You have to heal me tonight. I almost slept through it.”

Steel nods, and Schaffa’s eyes flatten in response. Yes, the guardian finds his movements strange. Then, because it is only right, he says, “You do not need it tonight.”

“There is no harm. You have already woken me up. May as well make it worth it,” Schaffa carefully extracts himself from Nassun and stands. He holds out his hand to Steel. “Shall we?”

Steel takes it. 

On a flat plane away from their sleeping area Steel releases Schaffa’s hand and Schaffa takes a step back. There is a pause, a moment. Now that the pain is not master of Schaffa there is no easy way to start. Schaffa rolls his shoulders back, tips his head from side to side as if raring for a fight. Then with an odd formality he drags his hair over his shoulder to reveal his bare neck. There is something wholly intimate in the gesture, and though Steel does not need to touch Schaffa to calm the earth piece he recognizes that this does not matter. In this gesture there is a language. It says  _ this is how things are done _ . There is an order now. There is a mode of communication. Steel cannot heal Schaffa if Schaffa does not wish him to. Steel flicks his hand to hover over Schaffa’s neck, slowly bringing his fingers to rest over the long ragged scar. Though the pain is quieter already Schaffa still lets out a sigh when Steel silences it further. Steel removes his hand from Schaffa’s neck and Schaffa raises his head to meet Steel’s gaze. 

“Thank you.”

“You do not need to thank me.”

Schaffa smiles pointedly. “ _ Thank you _ .”

So this may be another nightly occurrence. Steel wishes he wouldn’t. Schaffa resituates his hair and looks towards the place where Nassun sleeps. Even with the pain silenced as much as it will, there is a look of lost concentration on Schaffa’s face and he asks, “How much longer till we reach Corepoint?”

“Soon.”

Schaffa’s brows are still pinched as he turns back to Steel. “That’s not an answer.”

“Three weeks, give or take,” Steel clarifies. To reach Corepoint in time it will need to be. 

Schaffa is smiling again. It is not his usual smile. It is more… feral. He takes a step forward and drapes his arms around Steel’s neck. “You are not much interested in having this conversation, are you?” Schaffa asks, his tone not quite taunting. 

They are back again, to that strange thing called  _ flirting _ . It seems to Steel like teasing, only done with the intent not to embarrass so much as … he isn’t sure. Fluster? He isn’t even sure he can get flustered. Steel answers Schaffa’s question with, “No.”

Schaffa’s eyes glitter. Steel smirks, because it seems like the right thing to do. When this does not elicit a response from Schaffa, Steel grows impatient. He flicks his hands to Schaffa’s waist, and feels Schaffa twitch. 

“I was wondering when you were going to do that,” Schaffa says languidly, and Steel glowers, not liking how out of his control the situation feels. Schaffa sighs at his expression and leans back into Steel’s hands, intertwining his own behind Steel’s neck. After Steel does not respond Schaffa raises his eyebrow and asks, “...Well?”

And Steel blurts, “Are you going to kiss me again?” which makes Schaffa laugh. 

“Impatient, are we?” Schaffa’s smile is a knife, wicked, curved, clean. “I thought we could talk first.”

“About what? I cannot keep you up long. Not if you are to get a proper rest.”

Schaffa  _ tsks _ . “So methodical…” 

“What is wrong with that?”

Schaffa readjusts himself in Steel’s arms, and Steel moves his hands to accommodate. “Steel…” Schaffa starts. Then he pauses. “Do you prefer I call you Steel?”

“It will suffice.”

Schaffa does not seem completely satisfied with that answer; it shows in the little jab in the corner of his mouth. He resumes: “Steel. You are bad at flirting.”

This is not the response Steel wanted. He blurs away from Schaffa, reappearing a step away, arms at his sides. Schaffa is startled by this. Upon seeing the unhappy pout of Steel’s mouth he huffs through his nose, realizing he has to explain a little further. “Steel…” he stops. Licks his lips. Starts again. “Steel. You can’t - ... I don’t want this - nightly occurrence - to be a formula.”

“Then don’t thank me.”

Schaffa laughs. “Fair enough.”

When Schaffa does not continue, Steel prompts, “Why shouldn’t it be systematical?”

“Because flirting is, from what I remember,” and here Schaffa pauses, frowns, then continues, “from what I remember, yes, it should be fun. There is nothing fun about a formula.”

Steel doesn’t respond, not immediately. What Schaffa has said makes sense, in some way, not that he really knows. But he trusts Schaffa on the subject and that is enough. Schaffa jumps when Steel appears beside him, arm around his waist. Schaffa is taller than Steel, though not by any excessive amount. But it is enough that when Schaffa looks down at him his hair pools on Steel’s shoulder. His smile is back, the knife smile.

“Now you’re getting the hang of it,” Schaffa says. He traces his finger in a crescent over Steel’s jaw and Steel obediently shifts his head upwards towards Schaffa’s so that Schaffa can kiss him. Steel is too nervous to initiate a kiss himself. He could crush Schaffa’s nose, or jaw, or entire face, or tear his lips off with his teeth and then where would they be? So he tilts his face and hopes that Schaffa will understand, because they seem to be on the same page now. 

Schaffa’s mouth is light against his own, and Steel is startled again by the strange way the silver in him twists with this small form of contact, knotting in some places, tracing smooth in others, alive and moving and vibrant. He moves to cup Schaffa’s hand on his jaw, tightening his hold ever so minutely on Schaffa’s waist. Schaffa’s lips move slightly against his own, the tip of his tongue bumping fleetingly from between his lips before Schaffa pulls his face away. There is a drop of moisture on Steel’s lips and Schaffa flicks it off playfully. The touch of his finger is different from his lips, a new sensation, and somehow still… enjoyable. 

“See?” Schaffa raises his eyebrows. “What good would a kiss be without foreplay?”

Steel does not like this term ‘foreplay’. He doesn’t completely know what it means, but it makes the silver in him twist uncomfortably. Schaffa doesn’t seem to notice, instead leaning forward to kiss Steel’s hand where it cups his own. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind releasing my hand, I should be getting a good night’s rest.”

Steel lets him go. 

“Until tomorrow, then,” Schaffa nods.

“Until tomorrow,” Steel agrees. 

He watches Schaffa stride away to where Nassun sleeps, trying to reconjure the feelings from the kiss, and for the second night in a row is looking forward to the passage of time. 

⤞⤝

The nights continue in such a fashion, sometimes worse sometimes better. They meet no matter the condition of Schaffa’s pain, and Steel will ease it, and they will talk and, ultimately, kiss. These conversations have never lasted more than fifteen minutes. Perhaps soon they will last longer, as their conversations become more complex and they begin to learn about one another; not the histories, or the wholes, but the small little things that define a person as much as the large, groundshaking events. 

Tonight is a bad night for pain. Schaffa wakes up with his muscles clenching, the roots of his teeth drilling holes in his skull. Steel is there immediately, hand closing on Schaffa’s wrist before Schaffa’s limbs can flail out to hurt Nassun or himself. He spirits Schaffa away, and no sooner have they materialized on the new segment of earth then Steel twists Schaffa around, his fingers winding up Schaffa’s neck to the familiar base of his skull, his lips pressed to Schaffa’s own. Somewhere Schaffa realizes that the hand on the neck is more of a formality than a requirement, that Steel could direct the silver more through his mouth than through his fingers. He knows at the same instant that Steel will continue to respect this formality. This strange simple gesture of cradling Schaffa’s skull. Steel soothes him, and Schaffa groans against his mouth, fists balled against Steel’s chest unfurling like flowers.

“Greedy,” Schaffa teases once his head has cleared enough of pleasure and pain to form a coherent thought. 

Steel does not respond, though Schaffa is certain he is thinking of the irony of the statement. After all, it is Schaffa who bears the iron core that sucks silver from Steel night after night. 

“Was I too forward?”

Schaffa laughs, “Not at all. I think you’re getting the hang of this.” 

“Ah,” says Steel. “Good.”

“Mmm.” 

Schaffa tips his head forward, pressing his lips to the corner of Steel’s neck at the junction of his collarbone. He parts his lips slightly, dragging his teeth along Steel’s shoulder. The movement sends vibrations through Schaffa’s skull; Steel’s skin is not as smooth as it looks. Steel makes a strange grating noise, almost like an inhale. Schaffa closes his mouth over the ridge of bone; Steel tastes like grit, and warmth, and salt. Steel hisses. In a voice gravelled to near incomprehensibility he whispers, “Fuck, Schaffa…”

Schaffa presses his hands into Steel’s chest, moving them steadily down his pectoral muscles. Steel’s nipples are hard nubs against his palm and under his fingers and Schaffa toys with them briefly, then slides his arms around Steel’s waist, drawing himself closer. Schaffa can hear the smiling in his own words as he murmurs, “I never heard you swear before.”

“Schaffa…” 

Steel trails off, his voice chained. Schaffa bumps his cheek playfully against Steel’s before taking Steel’s earlobe into his mouth. He can’t do much but suck on it, as Steel is made of stone and thus immovable, but he likes how round and smooth it is. Steel makes a lumpy crumpling sound that Schaffa interprets as gulping. Schaffa might just be imagining it, but he could swear Steel feels warmer. Finally he releases Steel’s ear and leans back into his hands. 

Maybe it is just the shadows, but it almost looks like Steel is blushing. 

“Too much?” Schaffa asks, concerned. 

It takes a while, but Steel manages, “No.”

“Good.”

Schaffa bumps his nose against Steel’s. He likes teasing the stone eater in this way. 

Steel is looking at him with an uncharacteristic furrow in his brow. Schaffa tips his head at him. “Schaffa,” Steel says, and in his soft tone Schaffa realizes Steel is almost embarrassed, “I would like to kiss your scar.”

Schaffa obligingly pulls his hair over his shoulder. Steel materializes behind him, wrapping his arms around Schaffa’s waist, his hands splayed along his stomach. His body is a solid pressure, and Schaffa relaxes against him. Steel’s mouth is firm but light against his neck, and Schaffa closes his eyes, losing himself to the feeling of Steel’s lips sliding along the mottled scar tissue. 

When the feeling stops Schaffa tips his head back without thinking, not ready to release the sensation, accidentally banging into Steel’s nose and causing a sharp pain. He swears under his breath and moves his head so that it rests on Steel’s shoulder. He is almost fully supported by Steel now. Steel studies him with a grey eye. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. That was my own doing.”

After another silence, Steel says, “I’ve wanted to do that. Thank you.” 

“No thanking, remember?” responds Schaffa ryely. 

After another moment Steel asks, “Would you like to go to bed now?”

Schaffa shifts in Steel’s arms to face him. “Not quite yet,” he smiles. “Not quite yet.”

⤞⤝

“Schaffa.”

Steel’s voice is quiet. They are days from Corepoint, and Steel has become more morose. Schaffa twists to face him. They are lying down today, or lying down now. 

(It is not because of that. The lying down. It is just what happened.)

“Yes?”

“You will not survive the journey to Corepoint.”

(Steel never convolutes the truth in their conversations. It is something Schaffa likes about him.)

“And you?” Schaffa asks. 

“...I will not be able to travel with you. I must make my own way. I cannot protect you, Schaffa, and I am sorry.” It is the first time Schaffa has heard Steel apologize, and his voice sounds raw in the quiet dark. “I have failed,” Steel whispers.

“I have survived worse,” says Schaffa, but he cannot smile as he says this even as he tries to lift the mood. 

“No,” Steel says, “you haven’t.” 

There is nothing left to say. Schaffa reaches out his hand until he finds Steel’s, now upturned on the ground. He covers it, splaying his fingers until he feels Steel’s intertwine with his own. He closes his grasp, and they lie in silence. 

⤞⤝

Corepoint:

Schaffa’s hair is cut short, and it looks strange. He lies on the round bed, Nassun beside him clasping one of his hands. Schaffa does not seem surprised when Steel appears beside him, though Nassun starts and clasps Schaffa’s hand tighter. 

“It is alright, Little One,” Schaffa assures her. His voice is weak, and Steel recognizes how frail the silver in him is. Without thinking, he tries to convey the silver from his own body into Schaffa’s like he’s done so many times before. Schaffa’s face twists into a pained expression, and Steel stops. Schaffa is not absorbing the silver from him anymore. 

“Steel,” Schaffa smiles, genuinely, and knocks his chin upwards. Steel obediently bends over him. 

Schaffa raises his hand, placing it on Steel’s neck, which takes more effort than it should. He is so, so weak. It is a saddening thought, because the Schaffa Steel has known till now could have bench-pressed a tree if he wanted. Schaffa’s fingers worry their way as close to the base of Steel’s skull as they can. 

“You are not alone,” Schaffa breathes, so quiet it is almost just a ripple in the air. He gives Steel a fleeting kiss before dropping his hand back down to his side. 

“Schaffa,” Nassun looks startled, and Steel echoes her, rumbling, “Schaffa.”

Schaffa’s white eyes meet Steel’s once more before turning back to Nassun. Steel recognizes that they have said goodbye. 

  
  


Steel stands waist deep in the ocean surrounding Corepoint. The wind flings the salt spray unto his face, peppering his cheeks with tiny droplets. Steel does not cry. He does not know if he can. He can still feel Schaffa’s fingers at the base of his skull, hear the vibration of their farewell in his ears. 

_ You are not alone _ . 

(You are not alone.)

Steel closes his eyes as the salt water spume runs in fine rivulets down his face. 


End file.
